Princess Rahl: The Heir to the Throne
by hrhrionastar
Summary: AU Reckoning fic  part 1 of 3 : What if Kahlan and Darken's baby was a girl?
1. It's a Girl!

**It's a Girl!**

"Aaaaah!" Kahlan screamed. Darken watched her dispassionately, tilting his head and touching his fingers to his lips. He was remembering another birth he had witnessed. _Cara_ hadn't screamed while she was in labor.

Not that he was comparing.

The Healer hummed softly at Kahlan. "Push, Lady Rahl," the Healer said placidly. Kahlan screamed again.

Darken waited, reflecting that labor was a tedious process.

At last, the baby was born. The Healer wrapped the child in a blanket and handed it to Darken, and then turned back to Kahlan, murmuring softly. Kahlan looked exhausted, but seemed to have regained her customary poise. She ignored the soft violet glow surrounding her from the Healer's hands.

She was watching Darken and the baby, he knew well. Gently, Darken examined the child. No hair yet; blue eyes. And—"It's a girl!" he exclaimed, not best pleased. He could never hand the throne of D'Hara over to a daughter—the armies wouldn't stand for it, Confessor or no.

She was cute, though.

Kahlan held out her arms, almost weeping, and Darken handed the child over. "She's beautiful," Kahlan crooned, and smiled up at him. Darken thought it must be the first honest smile she'd ever given him, and resolved at once to capitalize on it.

"You," he said, in the general direction of the Healer and the servant girls. "Out!" They left, his wife's personal maid lingering for a moment until she got a nod from her mistress, and Darken turned to Kahlan, still holding and crooning at the baby.

"She's adorable, isn't she?" Darken said. "Pity, though. She can't be my heir."

"What?" Kahlan demanded, looking up at him. "Why not?"

"I need a son to leave the throne of D'Hara to," Darken explained calmly. "So I'm afraid this child's useless." And he held out his arms for the baby. Kahlan, sensing the threat to her daughter's safety, clutched the baby tighter to her chest. "Or, if you gave me a son, I'm sure this little girl would make a fine big sister," Darken said, pleased that Kahlan was reacting exactly as he had expected.

"You're a fool!" Kahlan cried. "Male Confessors always go mad! Your daughter will grow up loving and respecting you—your son will destroy you!"

"He'll be your son, too," Darken pointed out. "I have no doubt that between us we will raise a fine son—and a beautiful daughter."

Kahlan looked down at the baby girl again, and all the fight seemed to go out of her. Darken watched with pleased interest. "All right," Kahlan whispered. Darken rejoiced inwardly.

There was a small pause, while Kahlan softly crooned to the baby, and Darken watched, feeling an unexpected surge of tenderness. Kahlan was bound to him in truth, now, as the mother of his child. And the girl did have a certain charm…

"What should we call her?" Kahlan asked, softly. Darken was surprised; surely she wanted to name the child herself? Kahlan looked up at him, expectantly.

Darken thought for a moment. Then he succumbed to the inevitable, and said quietly, reaching out to stroke the baby's head, "Nila. For my mother."

* * *

Kahlan felt a tug on her heartstrings when Darken named the baby. His mother—well, perhaps she had been a decent woman caught in a situation beyond her control, just as Kahlan was.

And now, Kahlan knew Darken cared for little Nila, or he would never have so named her. She had had to know—if Darken would kill her daughter, as well as she herself, once he had the son he so foolishly craved.

Kahlan did not believe it would truly come to that—her sister, Dennee, had given birth to a boy, and it never happened twice in a generation. But if Darken thought their next child would be a son, who was she to cavil at the opportunity to have another daughter—another ally in her quest to see Richard returned to her?

What did it matter how many daughters she gave Darken, save that each would be a weapon in her hands, another chance for Richard to get back to his own time?

Kahlan cradled Nila in her arms, feeling hopeful for the first time since she had agreed to this bargain. But she did not want Darken to be alienated from Nila—he had to trust the girl, it would make everything easier. So Kahlan stroked her daughter's cheek, and handed her up to Darken, saying, "Look. She wants her father."

"I've never held a baby before," Darken protested, a little alarmed. But Kahlan saw his arms curl possessively around Nila, and knew the baby was already more than a tool to him.

And she exulted.


	2. ProLife

**Pro-Life**

This time was going to be different. As soon as Kahlan had agreed to have another baby, to give Darken the son and heir he needed, he had spoken with his sorcerers. This baby was going to be a boy, Darken was determined.

He had never been much for children—growing up hearing tales of how his baby half-brother, the Seeker, would grow up to kill him might have had something to do with it—but little Nila was different.

By the time Kahlan was pregnant again, Nila could already crawl her way across the entire throne room. It took several servants just to keep track of her. She was fearless, too; once, she came upon an unattended dagger and played with it happily for several hours, brandishing it at Mistress Alina when she came to collect the child. Only a Mord'Sith, it seemed, was brave enough to face down a Rahl, even a baby Rahl, armed with a dagger.

When Mistress Alina brought little Nila, still holding the dagger and giggling happily, to her parents, saying exhaustedly, "the Princess Nila, my Lord, my Lady," Kahlan was horrified.

But Darken was overcome. Honestly, he thought, if his daughter hadn't already been mistress of his heart, she would have won it then.

But the fact remained that Nila could never be his heir. The armies of D'Hara wouldn't accept a female Lord Rahl. She'd have to Confess them all, which idea didn't appeal to Darken, and which would undoubtedly reduce their effectiveness as warriors in any case. Some missions required a certain level of danger for all concerned, even the leader. Loyalty had to be personal and absolute. The Confessed would only care about the Confessor's personal safety.

And so, when Kahlan told him she was pregnant again, he sent for his wizards. Kahlan glared at him, but submitted to their ministrations. "It is a boy, my Lord," one said at last. And Darken smiled. As usual, now that his pesky little brother the Seeker was out of the way, everything was proceeding according to plan.

* * *

If Kahlan had dared, she would have tried to abort her son. But, as she explained to Alice, trying to reason it out within herself, "I don't want to bring a male Confessor into the world. But if I do anything, if I try to make myself miscarry, Lord Rahl will kill me. And I can't leave Nila to him, she's so young…I have to protect her. I have to tell her how to bring Richard back."

"Yes, my Lady," babbled Alice, looking relieved. Kahlan knew she didn't relish the thought of being the only person left to explain to Richard what he had to do.

Still, Kahlan anxiously probed her feelings—was she a coward, clinging to this life in her gilded cage and gilded Rada'Han, instead of doing what had to be done? She had given Richard a Confessor—Darken wouldn't hurt Nila, she was sure of it. So her task was done.

She could run away, have the baby in some lonely old rebel outpost, and kill him before Darken caught up with her…but she would be leaving her daughter here. And Kahlan knew it was possible for female Confessors to be overcome by lust for power, too, not only male Confessors. She remembered Lara, who had Confessed her entire village. And the Mother Confessor before herself, who had Confessed Zedd, a Wizard of the First Order…

Kahlan bit her lip, missing Zedd. If only he were here to help her. But she was alone. She had no one to rely on but herself. Alice was weak, and young besides, and Nila a mere toddler. The other Confessors were all dead—she was the last.

And she had to protect Nila. She had to. She dismissed Alice with a wave of her hand, and only then allowed herself to fall back on the bed and weep, clutching her pillow to her face to muffle the noise. "I'm sorry, Richard," she whispered at last, curving a hand around her stomach.

She would have the baby, and hope that tradition was wrong, and Richard was right. He had saved her nephew, after all. Maybe he would forgive her this.

Creator grant she saw him again. And Kahlan, face tear-streaked and pale, sat up and prayed.


	3. Baby Brother

**Baby Brother**

"He's beautiful," Darken whispered. In his arms he held his son. He could scarcely believe it. If Darken had known it would be like this, being a father…For the first time, he wished he had let Cara's son live.

"Let me kill him," Kahlan said hoarsely, from the bed. She looked too weak to harm the child, but even so, Darken tensed. "You know he will be a monster. He is a male Confessor—he will destroy you."

Darken looked at her, considering, and decided subterfuge was the best course of action. He pinched his son's soft skin, and the baby immediately started crying. "He wants his mother," Darken said, pretending alarm. "Kahlan, please…"

Kahlan tried to look away, not to care about the child. But Darken watched her, and saw the moment she gave in. She turned and reached desperately, unwillingly, for the child, and Darken handed him over.

Unconsciously, Kahlan crooned to the baby, rocking him against her breast. Darken watched, emotions he couldn't name stirring in his heart. "What shall we call him?" Darken asked at last, softly.

Kahlan looked up at him in surprise. "You want me to name him?" she asked, confused.

Darken nodded, reflecting that this might be the crucial step in overcoming Kahlan's resistance. How could she not care for the child she herself named? "You are his mother," he said, not quite an explanation.

Kahlan still looked doubtful, but she stroked the baby's head, and thought. And at last she said, "Nicholas."

* * *

Kahlan was still cradling Nicholas in her arms when two-year-old Nila burst into the room. "Mama, mama!" she cried, leaping onto the bed and cuddling next to Kahlan, her dark hair tickling Nicholas as she bent over him.

"Who's _that_?" she asked, in tones of distaste.

"That, my dear, is your little brother, Nicholas," Darken said, picking Nila up and pulling her away from Kahlan. Kahlan couldn't tell if he was worried she might be overwhelmed by two children, or if he wanted to keep Nila away from her influence, even at such a time.

"I don't want a brother," Nila pouted. Kahlan sympathized; surely it was Nila's Confessor instincts that made her disapprove of Nicholas. But with her son in her arms, Kahlan couldn't bring herself to feel the same way. He was a beautiful baby; surely something good could still come from this child?

"That's what I always said," Darken murmured, almost as if he had forgotten Kahlan was there. Kahlan blinked, not aware that Darken had had any siblings.

"Would you like to see him?" Kahlan asked, smiling with an effort. "Come, Nila." Nila squirmed out of Darken's arms and clambered up on the bed again.

She looked down into Nicholas's eyes—they were the same color as Kahlan's, and as Nila's, though Kahlan knew that might change in the next few days. Kahlan glanced at Darken—he was looking at Nila and Nicholas, too, and, for a moment, Kahlan wondered if, all against her will, they were turning into a real family after all.

Then Nila looked up at something or someone behind Darken, and screamed. Darken whirled and caught the knife before it could sink into his chest, and Kahlan's eyes widened.

"Guards!" Darken yelled, clearly furious. But Kahlan only had eyes for the woman in Darken's grip. She had long red hair—a tear trembled in the corner of her eye as Darken twisted her wrist brutally, to make her let go of the knife. But she was staring straight back at Kahlan, and her eyes were cold.

"Jennsen?" Kahlan asked in disbelief.


	4. Traitors

**Traitors**

"You!" Jennsen shouted at Kahlan. She seemed to be ignoring Darken, which he thought a bit rich since she had just tried to kill him, her venom reserved for Kahlan, who still lay in the bed, exhausted by her labor, Nila and Nicholas in her arms. "You traitor!"

Kahlan went, if possible, paler. Darken twisted his sister's wrist hard enough to leave bruises, stopping just short of breaking it.

Where were those wretched guards? Obviously they had grown fat and complacent with the new peace; he would have to take steps.

"I…" Kahlan was stuttering, helpless against Jennsen's glare.

"You betrayed us all!" Jennsen raged. "How long have you been on _his _side?" With a violent jerk of her head at Darken. "Did you lead my brother to his death—my grandfather? How could you do this to us, _Confessor_?" In Jennsen's mouth, the word was a vile insult. "I would just as soon kill _you_, you heartless witch, as _him_! I hate you!" Jennsen stormed.

Kahlan was cowering against the bedpost, weeping openly now. Nicholas was crying, and Nila sat staring at Jennsen with those wide blue eyes, thumb in her mouth.

"Just tell me this," Jennsen said, calmer now. Darken hoped savagely that he was hurting her, and wondered how best to get her to shut up. "Did you ever really love Richard? Or was it all just a game to you? Couldn't wait to get back to this tyrant?"

"Of course I—how can you even think—Jennsen, please," Kahlan begged.

At last, at long last, the guards entered. Darken released Jennsen, only to have two guards each grasp one of her arms. "Take her to the dungeon," Darken said. "And send me Mistress Cindi and Mistress Alina." He looked at Kahlan, huddled in the center of the bed, clinging to Nila and Nicholas, crying…"In my study. Send Alice to my wife."

The guards nodded. "Yes, Lord Rahl," they chorused.

"And you," Darken said, turning to Jennsen. She raised her eyes defiantly to his. "My _dear_ sister. Do not ever speak that way to my Queen again. I will make your kitten's fate look merciful."

Only now did Jennsen look close to breaking down. She swallowed. "Mordy?" she asked, in a wobbly voice quite unlike her righteous fury.

Darken gave her a sinister smile, and almost jumped out of his skin when Kahlan said scathingly from behind him, "_Mordy_? You named your kitten Mordy? Please tell me it wasn't after the Mord'Sith."

Jennsen flushed. "I…" she said hesitantly.

Darken remembered the occasion. With a sudden pang, he recalled that Jennsen had named the kitten after Cara, because Cara had told her she was a Mord'Sith.

"I had amnesia!" Jennsen defended herself. "What's your excuse?"

Darken turned to Kahlan, curious in spite of himself. He knew the terms of the bargain they had struck, but how could he be sure Kahlan was honest with him? And perhaps she saw it in a different way. Jennsen was a symbol of that other time, before the Seeker had disappeared into the ether, taking Cara and the Boxes of Orden with him. What might Kahlan say to one who had been a part of that war?

For answer, Kahlan stroked her daughter's hair, and glared at Jennsen. "You don't understand," she said, and fainted.

* * *

When Kahlan woke, Alice was smoothing her brow with a cool cloth. The children were gone, and the room was dark. "Nila and Nicholas?" she demanded at once, fear for them for a moment clouding her reason.

"They are safe, my Lady," Alice said. "Do not worry." But she looked frightened.

"Alice, what is it?" Kahlan demanded. Alice refused to meet her eyes, and Kahlan's voice sharpened with the tone of command. "Tell me."

"Jennsen…" Alice cried. "I knew her, my Lady. From before. She lived in my village until Lord Rahl's men came and captured her. And now she's in the dungeon…" Alice sobbed.

"Oh, Alice, I'm sorry," said Kahlan, gently removing the wet cloth from Alice's trembling fingers. "I know how you must feel." And she did. When Kahlan thought of the accusations Jennsen had leveled at her, her cheeks burned with shame.

Jennsen was right. She, Kahlan, had betrayed the cause of the resistance. Her capitulation to Darken was the last nail in its coffin. They never would have succeeded anyway, she told herself. Not without the Seeker. So many would've been killed, whom she had saved. And yet…

But Jennsen didn't know the battle wasn't over yet. Kahlan was trying to help Richard. And if he succeeded in returning to her at the moment he had put the Boxes of Orden together, everything that had happened would be erased. All he needed was Nila to Confess him while he put the Boxes together and a Mord'Sith touched him with her agiel. And Kahlan doubted there would be a dearth of Mord'Sith even fifty-eight—no, fifty-five years, now—in the future.

The only problem was Nicholas. Male Confessors were always evil; Kahlan had had that lesson drilled into her as a young girl. She bit her lip as she comforted Alice. Was Jennsen right? Had she really betrayed them all? What if Nicholas grew up to kill his sister and enslave the masses? Should she have killed herself before giving Darken a son?

And when had she begun thinking of him by his first name?


	5. Security

**Security**

Having temporarily solved the Jennsen problem, Darken turned his mind to other matters. Namely how she had managed to penetrate so far into his palace.

"Cindi, Alina," he greeted the Mord'Sith in his study. "It has come to my attention that palace security is notably lax."

Both women looked relieved; as Mord'Sith, they were not in charge of palace security, only Darken's personal safety.

"This is an intolerable risk," Darken continued, pacing. Alina and Cindi watched him apprehensively. "So I have decided," Darken said, turning to them and speaking to Cindi, new First Mistress, "to appoint several of your Sisters to guard my children."

Darken watched Cindi carefully refrain from recoiling. She had poise, he couldn't deny that; but no one could compare with Cara. "Yes, my Lord," she said. "Does my Lord have any preference? My Sisters are not trained to be babysitters."

"Alina has already demonstrated her competence," Darken said smoothly, nodding to her. She paled. "And I am certain, Cindi, that you will choose two or three others with similar fortitude…or incur my displeasure."

Cindi bowed her head, her dark braid falling over one shoulder. "Yes, my Lord."

Suddenly bored and annoyed, wishing for someone with a gold braid instead of a black one, who wouldn't hesitate to point out the flaws in his plan, Darken said shortly, "Go. And send me General Egremont."

Cindi and Alina left without further urging, and Darken waited, increasingly impatient, for Egremont to give him a proper report. How dare the guards be so remiss as not to notice Jennsen's entrance? Were they sleeping at their posts? Ought he to make Cindi trail him at all hours, just to avoid more assassination attempts from rebel scum? Had the dregs of the war actually come into his palace?

Darken frowned. And what should he do with Jennsen now? It seemed too much to hope that he could win her over again—unless he brought her a new kitten, Mordy the Second, perhaps…?

* * *

"Oh, absolutely not!" Kahlan exclaimed, furious. "You have enough servants in this place that the children might as well have five or six babysitters apiece! Darken, please—"

She couldn't explain why the thought of Mord'Sith looking after her children was so hateful to her, but it might have had something to do with what Denna did to Richard. Kahlan was aware, of course, that Denna wasn't at the palace, and that Darken probably wouldn't be particularly happy with her if she ever did show up again, but the fact remained that all Mord'Sith were alike—tortured as children, torturers as adults, and fanatically devoted to the Lord Rahl.

Darken raised his eyebrows at her. "I would think you would be pleased," he said calmly. Kahlan couldn't tell if her begging had affected him at all, and cursed his immunity to her powers. Not that she could have used them, Rada'Han around her neck, but still. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, and that bothered her. "After all," he continued, "most servants can be bought or bribed to slip poison into a child's bottle; a Mord'Sith is always loyal to the House of Rahl."

Kahlan couldn't deny the justice of this argument (it seemed to be true, as far as she had observed), but she countered with another telling point: "When the children gain their Confessor powers, they will kill your Mord'Sith babysitters!" she almost-yelled. "I can hardly suppose you will chain them as you do me," she added bitterly. What would be the point of an all-powerful Confessor heir confined by a Rada'Han? Unless Darken chose to keep Nila's powers in check, and leave Nicholas free.

But then again, Kahlan reassured herself, Rada'Hans weren't precisely a copper a dozen, even for Lord Rahl. Shota wore one, too—with a jolt, Kahlan realized how long it had been since she had thought of the plight of the sorceress. If she had believed her words would carry any weight, she might have tried to convince Darken to show mercy to his other prisoners. But as it was, she didn't even dare ask after Jennsen—who was Darken's sister, apparently—did she remember something about that? Richard had told her—but no.

She had chosen her place in this wasteland of a world-without-Richard, and she daren't risk it too far, for the sake of her children, who must survive to send Richard home to her.

Darken laughed. "I trust Mistress Alina can handle a few toddlers—Confessors or no. And I would have you remember, Kahlan," he said, leaning in close to her and trailing a finger down the line of her jaw. She shivered. "That this is for their safety. If I am the villain, why is it that the rebels you tried so hard to save even now plot our children's deaths?"

Kahlan flinched, as the implications of his words sunk in. Could Jennsen's attack merely be the first of many? And how could anyone blame Nila and Nicholas for the mistakes of their parents?

Kahlan felt righteous fury stir in her like fire, and she yearned for the release of her power—before she remembered the rebels were right. Nicholas, at least, was a great threat.

Guilt assailed her, and she was only able to maintain that moral superiority which was her only defense against Darken now, by reminding herself that all she did was for Richard.


	6. Interlude: The Heights of Despair

New Year's Interlude:

**The Heights of Despair**

"Tomorrow is next year," Nila murmured sleepily. "Will you still love me next year, Mama?"

"I'll always love you," Kahlan said, smoothing back a lock of her little girl's dark hair. "Now go to sleep."

Nila smiled and shut her eyes.

Kahlan waited until Nila's breathing slowed. Then she checked on Nicholas, asleep in the cradle, before she left the nursery. He was angelic, golden curls glinting slightly in the light from Kahlan's candle.

She shook her head, finding it hard to believe that these were really her children. That this was really her life. That she was really so…content.

No. That couldn't be. She was a prisoner—Darken Rahl's slave queen. But that was nothing compared to her having lost Richard.

Another year without him stretched endlessly before her, and Kahlan shivered.

"Cold, my Queen?" Darken slipped a heavy red robe around Kahlan's shoulders before she was aware he was behind her.

"You—" she started to say, but he placed a finger over her lips.

"Hush," he said, gesturing to their sleeping children. "Come with me."

Kahlan wanted to protest, but she could hardly quarrel with him here—supposing she woke Nila and baby Nicholas?

She let him sweep her out into the corridor, where she exchanged a significant glare with the Mord'Sith on guard.

She decided against reopening _that_ argument. It might be a futile gesture, but Kahlan would not lose face in front of the Mord'Sith. She was too much a Confessor for that, no matter that her powers were denied her.

Darken took her through many dark corridors, past more expressionless Mord'Sith. Eventually, they ascended to the roof.

"You can't be serious," Kahlan protested, her thin slippers providing no protection against the cold stone. Here and there, eddies of powdery snow and dark ice were concealed. The air seemed crystallized, and Kahlan could see Darken's breath.

It was _not _a good time to be out on the roof.

Kahlan wondered, first abstractly, and then with real fear, if this were the end—did Darken plan to throw her from his battlements? She had always more than half expected this day would come, and of course he _would_ want to kill her himself—she had at least that much power over him.

But Nila—Kahlan had not yet told her what she must do, to return Richard to his proper time, and make sure none of this ever happened—Kahlan might be forced to rely on Alice, but the truth was she was much too weak for the task Kahlan demanded of her—how could Richard find her?

When they met in the Underworld, he would be right to reproach her.

Darken laughed, and Kahlan had enough self-possession left to glare at him.

He waved a hand, and the stone beneath their feet warmed slightly, the air no longer whistling like a knife around Kahlan's ears. Reassured that her murder was not immediately imminent, Kahlan drew his red robe up around her face, cuddling into the rich fabric, and unable to tear her mind from the image of him wearing it. His scent still lingered, settling in the air around her.

She breathed deeply, and told herself she merely needed the air.

"I wanted to wish you a happy new year," Darken said simply, moving smoothly into her personal space.

"I—" Kahlan said, but could find no words. A conventional '_And I you'_ would be a lie; '_Why?_' would only get her in trouble; '_Happy? I'll never be happy without Richard'_ was too dangerous (and also, Kahlan guiltily suspected, a lie…)

Darken pulled her into his arms, and Kahlan was too confused to protest. "Dance with me," he whispered, his breath warm on her neck.

Kahlan fought to keep herself stiff, but Darken was a beautiful dancer, and she couldn't bring herself not to respond to his expert lead.

They moved across the now-warm stones of the battlements, while the stars shone above them, glinting like eyes…

Kahlan could only pray Richard wasn't watching.

When she was in Darken's arms, there seemed no need for words. And she was too tired to quarrel, to fight another pointless battle.

_I will always love you_, Kahlan had told Nila. _Always_—

Until, Creator willing, she was back in that clearing with Richard and remembered none of this.

It was hard to imagine—impossible, not to have lived these past years full of despair and anger and heartache, and little bright spots of dangerous hope.

Kahlan felt balanced on the edge of an abyss—and she was very afraid that someday soon, she might want to fall.


	7. First Words

**First Words**

Darken watched as Nila, humming softly to herself, swooped her toy dragon around the nursery. Beside her, Nicholas kept reaching for the toy, angry when Nila swung it out of his reach. Kahlan sat embroidering not far away, her eyes on Nicholas.

The whole scene was pleasingly domestic, and Darken was happy he had dismissed Alina, so that he could have a quiet moment alone with his family. His family—it still seemed incredible that he had one. He never would have dreamed it was possible to be this content.

Without the Seeker hanging like a doom over his head, Darken had time to spend on being a father—a better one than his own, not that_ that_ was particularly difficult—and a husband.

Speaking of which…Darken leaned closer to Kahlan. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" he asked softly.

Kahlan nodded. "They're opposite," she whispered, almost more to herself than to him. Darken looked down at the children and thought he saw what she meant. Where Nila was dark, and skinny to the point of awkward boniness (a worrying sign in a three-year-old), Nicholas was a fair-haired angel, plump and graceful as only a toddler could be. Nila hadn't stopped talking since she had learned to speak, whereas Nicholas had yet to say any recognizable word, and the sounds he made were few and far between. Nila had been a restless baby; Nicholas was calm and easy to care for. They were as different as night and day.

"Well," Darken said slyly, "Maybe it's time we thought about giving Nila and Nicholas a baby brother or sister…" and he trailed his fingers along Kahlan's neck. She didn't move, neither accepting nor rejecting the touch.

"You have your heir," she protested, but her voice was breathy, and Darken felt triumph at this small victory warm his blood.

Before they could continue the intriguing line of discussion, however, the children caused a small distraction. Nicholas had at last managed to grasp Nila's toy dragon, and was hugging it to his chest.

"Give it back!" Nila shrieked, tackling her younger brother to the floor and trying to wrest the dragon from his clutching fingers. "Now, Nicholas!"

"Mine!" Nicholas said firmly. Then, apparently liking the sound of his own voice, he repeated it, louder. "Mine! Mine, mine, mine!"

"Is not!" Nila yelled back, bending Nicholas's fingers.

"Children!" Kahlan said, getting to her feet, discarding her embroidery, and moving to separate them. Darken followed suit, reluctantly. He wanted to see who would be the victor.

Darken was just picking up Nila, who immediately turned to him and said imperiously, "Daddy, make him give it back!" when there was a knock on the door and Alina and Cindi entered.

"My Lord, there is a woman here who says she is looking for the Seeker," Cindi said, and Alina held out her arms for Nila.

* * *

Kahlan's heart rate must have doubled when the dark-haired Mord'Sith made her announcement. She set Nicholas down in his crib, only stopping to confiscate the toy dragon he still held, before striding to the door. She was right behind Darken as he and the dark Mord'Sith, whose name began with 'C,' strode down the hall toward the throne room.

At the corner, Darken saw her, made an exasperated noise, and linked her arm through his, sweeping her along faster than she could have walked on her own. Behind them the Mord'Sith hurried to catch up.

Kahlan didn't even mind Darken's proprietary touch, as long as he was taking her to—possibly—news of Richard.

At last, they arrived in the throne room. Darken deposited Kahlan, with a rustle of the skirts she hated so much (they got in the way far more than her Confessor dress ever had), in the slightly smaller throne beside his. She sat and folded her hands in her lap, with what appearance of calm she could muster.

And only then did she see the woman standing before them, flanked by two guards. She wore the pink and green dress and veil typical of a Sister of the Light outside of the Palace of the Prophets. Kahlan gasped. She hadn't seen a Sister of the Light since she and Richard had taken Renn to them. And this Sister was one she had never met.

"Who are you?" Darken asked.

"Sister Verna of the Palace of the Prophets," the woman said.

"I am informed that you search for the Seeker," Darken said. "Why?"

"I was sent many years ago to find Richard Rahl—" Sister Verna started to say, but Kahlan gasped.

"Richard _Rahl_?" Kahlan protested. "The Seeker's name is—was—Richard Cypher!"

"The Seeker—Richard Cypher or Richard Rahl—is dead," Darken interrupted harshly. "Why did you search for him?"

"Dead?" Sister Verna gasped. "The first War Wizard in three thousand years?"

"War Wizard?" Darken and Kahlan asked together.

"Of course," Sister Verna said, looking confused. "Didn't you know?"

"He wasn't a War Wizard," Darken said skeptically. "If he were that powerful—" he stopped talking abruptly, looking vexed.

"What's a War Wizard?" Kahlan asked desperately.

Both Sister Verna and Darken turned to stare disbelievingly at her. For the first time since her childhood, tied to a chair with her sister Dennee, Kahlan felt like a fool.


	8. Mercy

**Mercy**

Darken stared down at the Sister of the Light, feeling aggravated. He could have her executed for merely bringing the name of his wretched little brother back into his life, but, as Darken well knew, the Sisters of the Light were like ants—where there was one, there would be more and more, until they were more than a nuisance.

Furthermore, it wouldn't do to antagonize the people who had raised Kahlan—Darken had done the research, and knew that she had suffered from a terrible father, not unlike himself, and that these Sisters of the Light had rescued her. The last thing he wanted was to give her an excuse to plot against him. The Seeker was gone; Darken wouldn't risk his hard-won peace for the pleasure of executing one pathetic Sister of the Light.

"You are welcome to stay with us until you feel ready to return to the Palace of the Prophets, Sister," Darken said smoothly. "We understand that you must be fatigued after such a long and fruitless journey."

"Indeed," said the Sister of the Light. "Thank you."

Darken glanced at Kahlan, and noted with pleasure her look of surprise.

He nodded to the Sister of the Light, and said politely, "I hope you'll join my Queen and I for dinner, Sister; I'm sure we'll have much to discuss…the state of the road to the Old World, perhaps."

The Sister inclined her head, and left.

Kahlan leaned over to Darken, still looking adorably confused. "Why?" she asked, and he laughed.

"Why do I show mercy?" he said. "Would you have me execute everyone who came to my halls? I thought you were more soft-hearted than that, Kahlan."

She glared at him. "You've hardly given me reason to think otherwise," she whispered fiercely.

Darken brushed a stray strand of hair off her face. "On the contrary," he breathed. "You know I love you, my Queen."

Darken was surprised to realize he meant it. Kahlan was his equal in a way no one else had ever been. And he never would have dreamed at the bond raising their children together had forged between them. She was his Queen, and he couldn't be sorry, not now, for anything that had happened, that had led to this.

Except perhaps for the loss of Cara—but he never let himself think of that.

* * *

Kahlan felt angry. And confused—but mostly angry, yes, that was it, she told herself fiercely. She waited until Darken was closeted with his generals, Sister Verna presumably resting in a guest room, and then she carefully made her way through deserted halls.

Several times she had to duck behind an embroidered curtain or tapestry, while pairs of Mord'Sith or giggling servant girls passed.

She caught a fragment of conversation between two young Mord'Sith, neither of whom could be older than seventeen—"And Mistress Alina says I have to watch the children tonight, she's got an appointment. I can't believe my bad luck!"

"What kind of appointment? Not with Mistress Janna, eh? You know—"

"That much, yes, but can we get back to the twin terrors? They're Confessors, you know—"

"Maybe swipe a Rada'Han from Lord Rahl's secret stash? For a good cause—"

At this point, Kahlan had to restrain herself with difficulty from leaping out and killing them both for daring to speak of her children so cavalierly—she might no longer have her power, but she had her wits, and _they_ were certainly armed—

With a deep breath, she let them pass.

At length, she arrived at the tower room in which Jennsen resided. The guard at the door frowned at her, but she stared him down; "Lady Rahl," he managed at last.

"I wish to visit Lady Jennsen," Kahlan said imperiously.

"But, my Lady—of course; may I ask you to leave any weapons outside?" The guard said desperately.

Kahlan's smile had rather an edge to it. "I am unarmed."

Nervously, the guard waved her through, unlocking the door and locking it again behind her.

Jennsen sat by the window; the view must be magnificent from here, Kahlan thought. "I'd been wondering when you'd visit," Jennsen said, not looking around. "I suppose you've come to finish the job; kill the last of Richard's family."

"Did you know Richard was a Rahl?" Kahlan demanded, disregarding this barb. She'd heard, and in fact expected, much worse.

"What?" Jennsen turned. Her eyes were shadowed heavily, and her skin seemed to stretch over her bones. Kahlan was surprised—surely Darken wasn't starving her? It seemed like an unnecessarily long form of murder.

"Richard and Darken were brothers," Kahlan said, watching her.

"Oh, so he was telling the truth," Jennsen marveled. "I wondered…he told me he and Richard were both my brothers; there was a prophecy that Richard would kill him…" reminded, she glared at Kahlan. "Which he would have done, if you hadn't betrayed him!"

"Never," Kahlan spoke low and fast. "I would never betray Richard—I'm trying to save him, for the Creator's sake!"

"How? He's gone," Jennsen protested.

"I—" abruptly, Kahlan thought of magical bugging devices, the uncertainty of whether Jennsen would even believe the woman who she thought had betrayed her brother, the dangers of letting anyone who didn't have to know her secret…how could she tell Nila what she needed to do, when the time came? What if Darken found out—the words wouldn't come, to fill the mistrustful silence.

Jennsen's face hardened. "Get out of my sight. Bitch."

Kahlan didn't cry until she'd reached the privacy of her room.


	9. Captivated

**Captivated**

Darken was sitting in his study, reliving the goodnight kiss he'd shared with Kahlan. He wanted her to know how much he still admired and desired her, though he wouldn't force her to return to his bed.

Little had he realized, striking that bargain with her after Richard disappeared, just how much more he'd wanted than a Confessor heir to the throne. Kahlan was—she was his Queen. There was no other way to express it.

And tonight…

The children were safely in bed; he and Kahlan had been discussing a political issue upon which, for once, they were in perfect agreement: one of the minor lords had pushed his six-year-old nephew off a cliff in order to inherit his elder brother's estate—the case had hit Kahlan particularly hard, Darken thought, because Nicholas was turning six this year. The man's execution was scheduled for the day after tomorrow.

When Darken had suggested, "Why not merely imprison him? Give his family the task of feeding the man; I doubt they'd let him go. And we look lenient, while they waste revenue."

"Don't you dare!" Kahlan had almost shrieked. "Leave that man at large—escapes are easy, especially for that class—let me Confess him, I swear, I'd be hard put to it not to kill him myself—"

"Very well," Darken had said, concealing his glee with difficulty. "The execution will proceed as scheduled. If you insist."

Kahlan had given him a sharp look. "Good," she said, but Darken saw her fingers brush the Rada'Han around her neck.

He caught her hand in both of his. "You know better than that," he said softly, answering her thoughts and not her words. "I can't take that off. You think I want to fight my entire Confessed household?"

"You just assume—" Kahlan said furiously, and then bit her lip.

Darken was immediately fascinated; he leaned closer. Kahlan raised her free hand as though about to hit him—gently, he licked that adorable lip. Kahlan sat rigid for one moment; then her free hand wrapped itself in his hair, pulling him closer—she melted, kissing him back with the passion he'd always admired.

She pulled away all too soon, and retired for the night looking flustered and mussed—still, Darken thought happily, it was progress.

His good mood lasted until General Egremont entered, and said, with his customary calm, "My Lord, the self-styled 'Emperor Jagang,' is attempting to storm the castle. Shall I tell the cooks to prepare the boiling oil?"

* * *

Kahlan didn't understand what was the matter with her. Was she so starved for love that even Darken's half-truths and manipulations could charm her? Was she so starved for trust that she would believe Darken meant her no harm? So starved for touch that their kiss had left her on fire, still trembling, longing for she knew not what (okay, so she had some idea)?

Kahlan was afraid the answer to all three questions—was yes.

The worst part, she thought miserably, resting her head in her hands, was that she no longer wanted the freedom of being without the Rada'Han so that she might launch such a rebellion as Darken feared. She knew it was her duty to do so, knew he was the greatest tyrant who ever lived, she'd given up everything to stop him, from her sister's life to her lost love to her honor, but…she couldn't imagine such a rebellion would do more than cause more bloodshed.

And was she weak, to want no longer to be so alone? Was it only she who kept the distinction of enemies between herself and Darken? Didn't Jennsen's attitude prove that she was already a traitor to everyone she'd ever cared for—the innocent people who looked to the Mother Confessor as the moral authority in the Midlands?

She had to believe Richard could return, and stop all this from ever happening. But then why make herself miserable for the next fifty years? Not that she'd survive that long.

She knew Nicholas would be evil, would destroy everything—but might not she and Nila together stop him?

Did she only believe this world-without-Richard would go up in flames and ruins because she wanted to think she was doing the right thing for the world when all she was truly trying to accomplish was her love returned to her?

Kahlan, getting a headache, dragged herself upstairs to tell Nila her usual bedtime story about the amazing and glorious deeds of the Seeker. She passed a tall, upstairs window and was immediately arrested by the sight of what she could only assume was an army, battering down the gates.

"No…" she whispered. How could Darken have let this happen? Didn't he realize her children were in this palace?

She stared, and for one bizarre moment, it was as though the man's eyes bore into hers. He wasn't quite in the front, nor did he look like much of a leader—but those eyes—

One moment, Kahlan was herself, Darken's captive Confessor wife, mother to the next generation of Rahl rulers, on her way to subvert her daughter into rescuing her from this gilded cage—

The next, she was—not. Not Kahlan, not the Mother Confessor, not Lady Rahl. Her mind and face were blank, wiped clean of personality.

She turned around and walked downstairs to where the gate was controlled.

Somewhere deep inside her soul, Kahlan screamed.


	10. Good Night, Princess

**Good Night, Princess**

Nila Rahl drifted upward out of an uneasy half-doze. "Mama?" she asked uncertainly of the empty room.

She sat up, and scowled. Mama never took this long to come and tuck her in and tell her all about the Seeker's victories over Gars and Shadrins and the Calthrop, who turned into a princess, just like her—

Where was Mama? Mistress Jeanna had come and gone through the Rahl oath of loyalty with her, which was the closest Mord'Sith ever came to a bedtime story, ages ago.

Nervously, Nila slipped out of bed and picked up the ornate knife she'd stolen from Father's study last week while he'd been lecturing Nicholas, who was squeamish and refused to touch journey books because you had to use blood to write in them.

Father hadn't noticed yet; it was his fault for not giving her the knife she asked for, on her eighth birthday. When would Father learn that Nila had better things to do than sit around playing with dolls? The prince and the princess always got married at the end, anyway. It was so boring.

Nila tiptoed over to her door, and opened it a crack. Yes, there was Mistress Alina, standing stiff and silent. Nila stepped out in the hallway.

"Princess Nila," Mistress Alina scolded. "Get back to bed."

Nila opened her eyes as wide as they would go and said plaintively, "But I want a drink of water, Mistress."

Mistress Alina sighed. "Stay right here," she said tiredly. "I'll get you some water."

"Thank you, Mistress!"

"And don't move!" Mistress Alina called back over her shoulder. Nila waited until she'd turned the corner, then stole down the main staircase toward the throne room. Maybe Father was having another top-secret midnight meeting?

As a precaution, she doubled back and listened at Nicholas's door. His room was near hers. Yes…those snores were too irregular and annoying to be anything but genuine. Nila grinned, pleased her evening's adventure wouldn't be marred by her irritating little brother tagging along.

She didn't hear voices until she reached the entrance hall; near the big pulley that released the outer gates stood Mama, pulling desperately at the ropes, while the usual guards, one of whom was called Tippis and regularly fed Nila maple candy, fought yet more guards from down the hall.

Nila stared. Obviously, this wasn't a normal midnight meeting. Where was Father?

On cue, he strode into the entrance hall, trailed by General Egremont, Mistress Cindi, and the new wizard, with the scrubby beard. A look of blank shock stole over his face. "Kahlan!" he gasped.

Mama turned and—there was no other word for it—snarled, just like a Gar in one of her stories. Nila shivered.

Father hurried forward, but the new wizard threw out an arm to stop him—"My Lord, go no closer! She has been taken over by Emperor Jagang!"

Father glared at the new wizard as though he were a bug.

"My Lord, she did Confess those men," General Egremont pointed out. Tippis and the other guard were now starting to raise the gate—Mistress Cindi hurried forward—"and yet she still wears the Rada'Han." This puzzled Nila; what was a Rada'Han?

"My Master will see you rotting in the Underworld before the light breaks, Darken Rahl," Mama snarled. She raised a hand as though to grasp Father by the throat—

Nila ran forward. She couldn't let this happen! If Mama wasn't Mama, what if Mistress Cindi killed her? "Mama, no!" she cried, wriggling between her parents. She hugged Mama as hard as she could, willing her to come back and stop being so scary.

Nila closed her eyes and said what she always did, when she needed to calm down: the loyalty oath Mistress Jeanna had taught her. "Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours_._"

Nila heard Mama whisper the last phrase, "Our lives are yours," and all the tension seemed to go out of her. Mama's gentle hand ran through Nila's dark hair, and when Nila glanced upward she saw Mama's eyes had stopped looking all red and scary. Now she was crying.

"Command me, Mother Confessor," cried Tippis, breaking free of Mistress Cindi, who stood over the body of his comrade.

For a second, everything was still. Father was looking at Mama, with the oddest smirk on his face. Everyone else looked at Mama, too, but Nila looked at Tippis. Was he alright? He seemed—different.

"Do you still have any maple candy?" Nila asked him diffidently—but hopefully.

He ignored her, still gazing up at Mama. Nila frowned. Was she not important enough for people to pay attention to? Just because she was eight didn't mean she was stupid. Besides, she was a princess.

Mama sighed, hugging Nila closer. "Return to your duties," she said, voice wintry. There was a collective gasp of shock from the assembled guards, Mistress Cindi, and General Egremont.

"Yes, Mother Confessor," said Tippis.

"My Lady," said Father, holding out his arm. "May I escort you to your rooms?"

Nila hung on to Mama's skirt, while General Egremont called, "What of Emperor Jagang's army, my Lord?"

Father smiled. "I trust you will use your ingenuity, General; boiling oil sounds almost too merciful, don't you think?"

Nila, skipping along between her parents, felt certain whoever was at the gates hadn't bargained on tangling with the Rahl family. Her biggest concern of the moment was whether or not she could convince Father to let her have some maple candy before bed.

And Nicholas had missed it all._ Good_, Nila thought savagely. He was no fun.


	11. Family

**Family**

Darken felt exultant. All was right with his world; after Nila's timely recitation of the loyalty oath, Jagang had been a mere minor nuisance—it seemed most of his followers had been controlled by his magic, just as Kahlan had been. When Mistress Cindi shot Jagang through the heart, most of his army had surrendered at once.

His wizards explained to Darken that Kahlan was still able to go into the Con Dar while wearing the Rada'Han because Jagang, who was controlling her, had been outside its magic-dampening range. There were other dreamwalkers, of course, but none could control her now that she had taken the loyalty oath. The Rahl Bond would protect her, and, incidentally, his own subjects, from being triggered thus again.

Furthermore, the Rahl Bond could never be revoked except by the death of the current Lord Rahl and another's ascension, which meant Kahlan was bound to him in yet another way.

Just as well Nila had arrived when she had; Darken hadn't relished the idea of locking Kahlan in the dungeon again until they'd killed Jagang. Less casualties, too—he'd allowed Tippis to live, after Kahlan had declined to start a small rebellion, and was awaiting events.

Who knew? The man might yet prove useful…

The best consequence by far, from Darken's point of view, was when Kahlan had come to his bedchamber the next night, eyes wild and that glorious hair spilling over her red nightgown, and said fiercely, "At least you are no Jagang," and kissed him.

Darken still smiled gloatingly when recalling that night.

It had been several months ago; Darken lay staring up at the ceiling of his rooms, Kahlan asleep beside him. For once, he was entirely at peace.

"Mmm," Kahlan said sleepily. She stirred, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Good morning," Darken said warmly.

"Oh!" Kahlan gasped, and Darken was immediately worried; was she hurt?

"What is it?" he asked, sitting up and peering down at her.

"I'm pregnant," Kahlan said flatly.

Darken smiled. His day was just getting better and better. He'd wanted more siblings for Nila and Nicholas for so long—Nicholas was already six. He had been raised an only child, but there was no reason his son and heir should bear that pain. Better to have your siblings under your eye, anyway, in case they tried to usurp your place, or there was a prophecy about them being sent to kill you…

"Darken," Kahlan addressed him, face cold and set. "Swear to me you won't let your sorcerers make this child artificially a boy. Or I will throw myself from your battlements, and you will lose both a Queen and a son."

"I swear," he said. There was no reason to do such a thing, in any case; the reverse, really. Nicholas was his only heir, and it must remain that way. He didn't want Nicholas to have the same problems he had.

He dropped a kiss on Kahlan's hair, a rare moment of tenderness. "You give me great joy."

* * *

Kahlan felt as though a great weight had been lifted. If this next child was another daughter, she would be another way to get Richard back. And Kahlan could pretend that was the only reason she had returned to Darken's bed.

Guilt for betraying Richard seemed heavy in her heart, while at the same time, she felt freer than she ever had. Nila had proven her potential to be a truly great Mother Confessor—Kahlan had done her duty. Now all she had to do was wait.

But she still had to live here—and the hatred she'd felt for Darken Rahl for as long as she could remember was now almost comfortable. Something reassuringly normal in a world of chaos. She still thought he might kill her someday, but could not muster up the energy to worry about it.

Nila was almost ready to know what she would have to do. And after that, it truly wouldn't matter what happened to Kahlan.

Feeling a bizarre sense of calm, Kahlan sat down to breakfast with Darken. She even admired the roses on the table.

"Father!" Nila came running into the room, closely followed by a scowling Nicholas.

"What is it, Nila?" Darken asked, frowning. Kahlan frowned, too; she wasn't sure if it was her Confessor power, finally sifting up through the years of being restrained, but she could feel that this was more than the usual quarrel between brother and sister over who'd won the latest game of Dragons.

"It's her fault!" Nicholas yelled; Kahlan's eyes narrowed. He was lying. Her sweet boy—was he turning evil already?

Nila burst out with her announcement. "Nicholas Confessed Mistress Alina!"


	12. Slap on the Wrist

**Slap on the Wrist**

"What? How did this happen?" Darken asked. Why were his children spoiling this most perfect day with a quarrel? And was Mistress Alina really dead? How inconvenient. His lips tightened. "Nicholas. Explain yourself."

Nicholas pouted. "She wouldn't let go of my arm. She said I was late for lessons, but I _wasn't_!"

"He _murdered_ her!" Nila said strongly, as though to make certain Nicholas didn't get away with anything.

At the same moment, Mistress Cindi entered, trailed by Jeanna and Dahlia.

"Ah, Cindi," Darken said distractedly. "Investigate this, will you? Alina should be in the nursery, yes?" He added the last to Nila and Nicholas; the former nodded.

Cindi gestured, and Dahlia and Jeanna left at once. Cindi waited, looking tense. Darken ignored her.

"So he Confessed her," Nila went on indignantly, "And then she went on for _ten minutes_ about all the horrible things she'd done—mislaying the Seeker, murdering the doubles, murdering lots of other random people—_Creator,_ but it was tedious!"

Darken almost laughed, sympathizing with his daughter's impatience. But now was clearly a moment to be handled with extreme care.

He frowned, and fished in a pocket. His spare gloves, good. "Put these on," he told Nicholas disdainfully, "At least until you can control yourself." He should have realized a Confessor child wouldn't simply be able to control his powers right away, the way Kahlan did.

Nicholas pouted. "No fair!" He looked on the verge of a tantrum. Darken sighed exasperatedly, and hoisted Nicholas onto his lap, sinking back into his chair. The boy seemed much too small and harmless yet to kill anyone.

Despite the annoyance, Darken rather approved of this evidence of Nicholas's power. His son would never feel his magic couldn't measure up—no one was more powerful than a Confessor.

Darken tugged the gloves on and put Nicholas down, patting him on the shoulder not unkindly. "Go on," he said, "you're confined to your room until I investigate this."

Nila crossed her arms. "That's it? He never gets in trouble!"

Darken smiled and ruffled Nila's hair. "Here," he said, and tossed her a cookie from the tray. "Happy now?"

Maybe this would yet all turn out for the best. Nila was a sharp girl—and Nicholas would learn to control his powers. Darken vowed not to let his good mood be too tarnished by the incident.

* * *

Kahlan was horrified. Her entire being had gone numb. It had started—and so soon! Nicholas was only six, but already the dark power of Confession reached to claim his soul. She had no choice—she would have to kill him.

She only prayed Nila would be safe—she'd have to tell Nila what she must do, first. Kahlan wasn't sure why she kept putting it off. Childhood seemed too sweet, to end it so suddenly, with such a difficult burden.

But as she listened to Darken's ridiculous idea of precautions (she had a special jolt of horror at Nila's cavalier description of a tormented soul's last moments in the Land of the Living as 'tedious'), Kahlan found herself wavering.

Of course, if Nicholas had turned evil, it would be Kahlan's duty to kill him—but had he? From Nila's description, the woman had committed horrific crimes (no doubt upon Darken's orders). Indeed, unless she was mistaken, it sounded as though this were the same woman who had once taken the false as well as the true Richard and Kahlan into custody. "Lord Rahl will sort it out," she had said. "He's very good at that."

She had been a Mord'Sith. Kahlan had herself executed Mord'Sith—a Confessor's touch was a painful and thoroughly complete way to kill them. The Breath of Life would not work on a Confessed Mord'Sith.

Nicholas had only been doing a thoroughly unpleasant duty. No doubt his Confessor instincts had warned him of the irredeemable evil in the woman's soul—he couldn't even have been said to have much of a choice.

The woman was a _Mord'Sith._ So that was all right, then.

Feeling much better, Kahlan looked around, once more aware of her surroundings. Darken had sent Nicholas away with a mild scolding and a pair of gloves (Kahlan doubted the latter would have as great an effect as he seemed to expect), and now was giving Nila a cookie.

Kahlan smiled at Nila. "You did right to bring this to our attention, sweetheart," she said calmly.

Nila shrugged. "Whatever. Can I go play in the attics?"

The attics of the People's Palace were a perilous place; Kahlan shuddered to think of all the trouble an impressionable young girl might find there.

"Of course," said Darken distractedly. "Leave the mirror alone."

Nila pouted. "I won't break it."

"I mean it, Nila," said Darken in a tone that brooked no argument.

As Nila flounced away, Kahlan saw the Mord'Sith ('C' something) glaring unreadably after her.

Kahlan frowned.

"You might have given me some assistance," Darken complained. "How are Confessors usually trained?"

Kahlan was sufficiently distracted that she almost told him the _truth_; quickly, she gathered her wandering wits, wondering how best to turn the opportunity of Darken allowing her to train her children in the ways of Confessors to good use.

She didn't look at the Mord'Sith again. She was fast coming to regard them as something in the nature of unpleasant furniture in her home, not of her choosing.


	13. Interlude: Lessons

Note: This is an interlude, taking place mostly before the series-basically, a look at how Confessors are trained, from Kahlan's point of view.

* * *

**Lessons**

"You will all be tempted. You will desire to use your power for personal gain. You must resist. Every Confessor before you has faced this same temptation, and been stronger for her resistance. If you allow your power to overwhelm you, you will lose your compassion—your soul."

Mother Confessor Serena paused, surveying each young Confessor—there were still many of them then—gravely.

Kahlan shivered when that gaze lighted upon her, guiltily conscious of the transgression her power had already led her into. (The bound soul of her first real friend, apart from her sister Dennee, haunted her.)

Beside her, Dennee looked pale and tired. The sisters had arrived in Aydindril only hours ago, delivered by kind Sister Candace. She had gone already, and Kahlan tried not to feel abandoned among strangers—these women were her own kind, after all. Other Confessors, like her and Dennee, at last.

Even her apprehension and hunger could not entirely erase her pleasure in finally being where she belonged.

Then the Mother Confessor smiled, and Kahlan watched her, eyes drinking in everything about her—ready to learn.

"Fortunately," Mother Confessor Serena said, "we can help."

The lessons were hard and long, every day a struggle. Kahlan absorbed the knowledge, history and law, faster than she had ever done anything before in her life. She and Dennee soon had dark circles under their eyes, from nights spent pouring over Magda Searus's Commentaries, and those of dozens of later Mother Confessors—tales of war, of difficult choices, of the duties that formed the warp and weft of a Confessor's days.

And then one day, Mother Confessor Serena called Kahlan and Dennee to her office. They sat on hard chairs, hair freshly combed and the black dresses of novice Confessors making their skin look pale by comparison.

"The two of you are older than our Confessors usually are when we begin their training," Mother Confessor Serena said.

Kahlan flushed, quick to defend herself and Dennee. "We would have come sooner, but our father—" she said, then broke off. Dennee turned scared eyes to her, and Kahlan forbore to explain further. "The Sisters of the Light said—"

Mother Confessor Serena held up a hand. "I understand," she said. "Your father's actions, although regrettable, are no more than what one must expect from a Confessor's mate, released by her death. Your mother was a great loss to us all—we miss her very much."

Kahlan felt tears pricking her eyes—the Mother Confessor seemed too large and great a figure to give Kahlan and Dennee her sympathy.

(How many times had Kahlan wished her mother had lived, to guide and protect her—instead, there was only Kahlan between Dennee and the harsh world, and no one to protect Kahlan herself at all.)

"We must guard you both against temptation," Mother Confessor Serena said, business-like again. "The Keeper calls to all souls, but those with power are greater prizes in His eyes. With power comes responsibility."

"We understand," Kahlan said earnestly; she was ready to prove herself responsible in any way the Mother Confessor might require.

"Good," Mother Confessor Serena smiled. "We will begin at once."

Just what they would begin was apparent the next morning (in Aydindril, the rhythm of the Confessors' lives meant 'at once' could be used fluidly).

Kahlan and Dennee still shared a room, but the servant girl who woke them led each to different rooms near the top of one of the Palace's towers, across the hall from one another.

Wordlessly, Kahlan pressed Dennee's hand in hers, trying to reassure her little sister with touch. She had no better idea what to expect than Dennee could, but Kahlan vowed to herself that she would not disgrace her mother's memory.

If her mother had lived, she would have taken the sisters to Aydindril before now, and this place would already seem like their home.

The room Kahlan was left in was plain, a window letting in warm sunlight, but no furniture or decoration anywhere. At first, Kahlan waited in apprehension, then in increasing puzzlement.

She was standing by the window when Mother Confessor Serena entered, shutting the door behind her.

"Kahlan," she said warmly, and Kahlan bowed her head, respect and awe racing through her. "Come, my child. Let us speak together."

Mother Confessor Serena seated herself on the floor, inviting Kahlan to do the same.

Kahlan complied eagerly, desperate to prove herself.

"All power comes at a cost," Mother Confessor Serena said. "You know this already, I'm sure."

Kahlan wondered if she referred to those Kahlan had Confessed at her father's orders. She wished she could undo that now, but there was no undoing Confession. It held until death.

"Your powers came to you early, no doubt as a result of the trauma of your mother's death," Mother Confessor Serena went on. "For you, it is especially important that you learn to control yourself."

"But I _can_ control my powers," Kahlan protested. "Mother Confessor, I'm trying—"

"I know," Mother Confessor Serena said, smiling warmly at Kahlan again. "And you're doing very well. But we can't take the risk that someday you will forget these lessons. That's why you're here." And she gestured at the bare room. "I want you to look out the window," she said, and Kahlan rose obediently. "What do you see?"

"Roofs…trees, swaying in the breeze…birds, flowers…the marketplace…" It was still early, and the market wasn't very crowded yet; Kahlan watched as one man bought a length of ribbon, smiling and laughing…

Then he met a woman, coming out of one of the houses…she caught his hands in hers, lifting her face to his…they kissed, and then the man held out the ribbon, showing it off…the woman threw her arms around him, then turned and held up her hair that the man might thread the ribbon through it…he tied a clumsy knot, and the couple walked on, their arms around each other…

"That is what a Confessor may never have," Mother Confessor Serena said gravely, and Kahlan jumped; she hadn't realized the Mother Confessor was so close behind her. "I want you to imagine being here, in this room, for the rest of your life—not able to feel the breeze, not able to hear children's laughter, or run through a field of wild flowers…all you can do is look out a window at what you can never experience."

Kahlan let the Mother Confessor's words fill her mind, until she thought of nothing else. A great sorrow threatened to overwhelm her, but she would stay strong—she was a Confessor.

Mother Confessor Serena put a gentle hand on Kahlan's shoulder. "That is the fate of Confessors," she said, "for we are the judges of men's souls, and their lives—and thus, we must always keep a part of ourselves separate from the simple joys of life."

For a moment, they stood there, looking out the window together—the Mother Confessor and the girl, just at the beginning of her life and her powers. All things should have seemed possible, yet Kahlan felt as though a door she hadn't known existed had just closed in her face.

Then Mother Confessor Serena sighed, and turned away. At the door, she said, "I am going to lock you in. I want you to meditate on all we have discussed, my child—I will return before the evening meal."

Kahlan bowed her head again, and said submissively, "Yes, Mother Confessor."

It was only after Mother Confessor Serena had gone that Kahlan thought to wonder if Dennee were undergoing this same meditation, across the hall.

All that day, although Kahlan quickly grew famished, and then almost faint with hunger, she prayed for Dennee, and for her mother's spirit, and for all her sister-Confessors, who had doubtless undergone this same cleansing process.

Yet when the Mother Confessor returned, Kahlan was staring longingly out the window again. In some ways, the dusk was even more beautiful than the morning had been. The sunset shed different colored lights that reached even Kahlan's skin, locked as she was in one of the Palace of Aydindril's tall towers.

All the different lights together were more stunning than the blind white light of noon, that erased all shadows.

"Have you given thought to what I spoke to you about?" Mother Confessor Serena asked.

Kahlan nodded, and the Mother Confessor smiled. "Good. We will repeat the exercise tomorrow, until I judge you to be ready to move on to the more physical aspects of keeping the peace."

Kahlan looked her inquiry, and Mother Confessor Serena clarified, "Defending yourself against the many enemies of justice. When the Creator places a knife in your hand, it is your duty to use it."

Kahlan returned to the empty room in the tower every day, and always the servant girl locked the door behind her. Sometimes the Mother Confessor came again, and others Kahlan was alone. She tried to make herself learn faster the lesson the Mother Confessor seemed so determined to teach her, but all that came to her in the tower room was a loneliness vast enough to make her previous trials seem easy.

At least then Dennee had been with her.

One night, she and Dennee curled together in bed, long after lights out, and Kahlan heard Dennee crying, softly.

"What is it?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. They were here, in Aydindril—where they belonged. What was there to cry over?

"I hate this," Dennee said quietly. "Every day…soon we'll starve. We are prisoners still. This is wrong."

Kahlan didn't pretend to misunderstand, but she said swiftly, "No. We must cleanse ourselves of—of the self-will that makes it so easy to misuse our powers. You heard what Mother Confessor Serena said—all Confessors have faced this. Do you want to disgrace Mother's memory?"

"Of course not," Dennee answered, and there the matter rested.

In time, Kahlan and Dennee were no longer sent to the tower rooms, and were taught instead to use the daggers no Confessor would willingly be without.

In time…Kahlan had almost forgotten those days.

They were part of her Life Before Richard, in any case—those memories were as though lacking in color, by comparison.

Now, with the more discerning sight of maturity, she wondered how much of Mother Confessor Serena's vehemence had been to make up for her own weakness, in failing to kill her Confessor son.

Kahlan was guilty of the same crime, and often she feared the same punishment. Was she doomed to be driven mad by love for Nicholas, the son she had never wanted?

And yet, if it were so, whom might she hurt? She and her children were the last Confessors, and she doubted Darken would allow her to live if she killed Nicholas, as Mother Confessor Serena had killed her son.

Which meant Nila would be safe, to live and return Richard to Kahlan, in the fullness of time.

Another duty remained for Kahlan—to train her own children in the same ritual of cleansing self-will that she had undergone.

And yet…

Kahlan couldn't tell if her reluctance to subject her children to that particular ritual stemmed from the same foolish sentimentality that had already betrayed her into becoming, however inadvertently, the mother of the growing family of Darken Rahl, the greatest tyrant the world had ever known, or some more impassive Confessor's instinct.

Without her Rada'Han, she thought bitterly, perhaps she would have been able to tell. As it was…

As it was, Darken would never allow the cleansing ritual (or perhaps he would, a thought that troubled Kahlan more than she cared to admit…), and so it behooved her to concentrate on those other skills required of Confessors.

There were huge tomes of history and law, no doubt lost in the ruins of Aydindril…but Darken would have copies. He must.

A Confessor was more than the absence of self-will.

As Kahlan herself surely had cause to know.


	14. A Mord'Sith's Honor

**A Mord'Sith's Honor**

Mistress Cindi didn't think she was unreasonable. She served Lord Rahl with a calm efficiency that was a marvel, particularly when compared with her Sisters. She harbored little affection for any of them—particularly Dahlia, who seemed to delight in little sharp barbs about her competence, appearance, and leadership as compared to Cara's. She hadn't liked Cara. If Cara was killed in some magical explosion, so much the better for Cindi, new First Mistress.

But Alina was a different matter. Not that Cindi had liked her better than any of the others. Alina was older than Cindi, and if she ever felt any resentment that Cindi was the one promoted to First Mistress, she never mentioned it.

Of course, that made her that much more dangerous—but that much less irritating on a daily basis.

It was not Alina, per se, that Cindi was so devastated to lose.

She wasn't sure what it was—security perhaps?

All she knew was that she was not anxious to let those horrible little monstrous children get away with this.

As she strode through the halls of the Palace, she vowed she would teach them some respect.

But Cindi knew Lord Rahl would never allow her to take liberties with his heir. Lord Nicholas was a murderous, impertinent brat—but Lord Rahl was not Panis Rahl, who, Cindi had heard, had actually ordered his son to be trained by a Mord'Sith.

So there was really no point imagining all the torments she might inflict on Lord Nicholas.

In a way, however, Lady Nila was even worse.

Cindi had listened to her description of what had occurred—her callous disregard for Alina's suffering had stung more than Cindi cared to admit.

These soul-stealing Confessors were a menace, and Cindi would never understand how Lord Rahl stooped to bed one of them, even if he was immune to her powers.

But there was no need to consider Lady Rahl. She was unimportant, in the larger scheme of things. Besides, Cindi was a Mord'Sith—she knew to always go for the pain. And what could be more painful for Lady Rahl than the lesson Cindi would teach that Underworld-spawn of hers?

Her course of action decided, Cindi followed the little brat, Lady Nila, up to the attics.

She ignored the towering World Mirror (it was said to show any time, any place, the viewer desired), the nondescript Wheel of Chaos (if properly activated, it could erase the minds of all in the Land of the Living, making them little more than animals), and the Dragon Scales (a weighing device made entirely from the scales of the Great Dragon's hide, that was said to weigh love, hate, evil, and other intangible matters of the soul).

Mistress Cindi had a prosaic mind, and the only thing that interested her was the gawky, awkward little girl clambering up the Dragon Scales, in order to peer into the World Mirror.

Refusing to waste time on a request, Cindi simply reached up and yanked the Lady Nila down by the collar of her dress.

"Hey!" the little terror shrieked. "Do you mind?" When she saw Cindi's set face, she asked, "Does Father want me?"

"No," Cindi said, with relish. "He never did. Lord Nicholas is the heir—only Lord Nicholas matters. You are extra—unnecessary, redundant. I don't know why Lord Rahl didn't have you killed at birth."

Now the brat was really squirming, screaming that it wasn't true, Father loved her, Nicholas was useless and not much of an heir, put her down at once…

Cindi tuned it out, bored already. Little girls were all the same. Lady Nila reminded her of the new recruits she was supposed to be training. Lord Rahl had told her to be especially careful with this batch—they had all been born about the same time he had won the war and the Seeker had been killed, and he wanted them as some sort of Statement.

Cindi wasn't too clear on the point of this, but she would do as she was told; she was loyal to Lord Rahl.

Cindi put the screaming Lady Nila in with the other little girls, the ones she and her Sisters had gathered, from the various corners of the kingdom. Let Lady Nila feel the cold, the rats nibbling at her toes and the grim uncertainty of her fate nibbling at her thoughts.

Cindi wasn't sure if she were really going to break the little princess; Lord Rahl might think that was going too far. But suppose he did punish Cindi? Cindi thrilled at the thought, guilty pleasure rising through her.

Maybe now was the time to show Lord Rahl it wasn't only Cara who had a mind of her own, and wasn't afraid to disobey orders.

Cindi smiled, willing to take the risk. She was Mord'Sith; this was what she had been created for.


	15. Good Little Girls

Warning! This chapter includes references to torture, general Mord'Sith issues...

**Good Little Girls**

Nila had never been so terrified in her short life. She shivered against the cold stone wall, staring around and wondering how Mistress Cindi could have done this to her.

The Mord'Sith had always been in the background of her life—never as important as her parents and brother, or the few other children in the Palace, but present. Safe. Guardians. Babysitters.

Until now.

For the first time, Nila wondered how Mistress Cindi had felt, knowing Nicholas had killed Mistress Alina.

"You're new," a small girl whispered near her.

Nila squinted into the dark. The girl's hair was a pretty reddish blonde, and her eyes were wide with fear.

"I'm Nila. I don't belong here."

"Ruxsendra," whispered the girl. "Neither do I."

Nila studied Ruxsendra curiously. "Then why are you here?"

"Those women came to Stowcroft and kidnapped me," said Ruxsendra. "I was planting roses—they'll die if no one takes care of them."

The fate of her roses seemed to drive Ruxsendra almost to tears. Sympathetically, Nila reached out and held her hand. "Someone will," she said. Privately, she thought it was a bit ridiculous to worry about plants when you'd been kidnapped, but she supposed she couldn't talk; all she could think of was how wrinkled and dirty her dress must be. It was green, and one of her favorites.

"What's going to happen to me?" Ruxsendra whimpered.

Nila clutched her hand. "I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen to me, either. But at least we're not alone."

Ruxsendra smiled at that.

For a long time, the two little girls sat in silence, holding hands.

Seconds, minutes, hours later—it was impossible to tell in that dark dungeon—Mistress Cindi came. She grabbed Nila roughly by the collar of her gown again, and Nila twisted away, looking for Ruxsendra.

In the light spilling from the hall, Nila saw that Ruxsendra had the most beautiful green eyes she'd ever seen—

Mistress Cindi dragged Nila through dark halls—they didn't meet anyone, but Nila heard screams. She shivered, feeling very alone.

"My father won't let you get away with this!" she threatened. Mistress Cindi hadn't even taken her out of the Palace—as soon as she was missed, Father could have one of his wizards locate her easily enough.

That is—_if_ he missed her.

Mistress Cindi laughed. "When will you learn, princess?" she jeered. "Good little girls don't speak unless they're spoken to."

"I'm not a good little girl," Nila replied, as firmly as she could.

She repeated that in her head while Mistress Cindi hung her from chains over a sunken patch in the floor. Nila's feet wouldn't have reached the floor in any case. Somehow, reminding herself that she was hardly a _good _little girl gave her courage. "Let me go!" she said, in her best Imperial Princess tone.

Mistress Cindi glared at Nila with such hate in her eyes that the little girl almost shrank away—then her own Rahl-blue eyes narrowed, and she glared back.

Mistress Cindi growled, and dealt Nila a vicious blow across the cheek with her agiel. Nila screamed.

* * *

Ruxsendra huddled in the dark. The women in red came and went, sometimes taking some of the girls away (they always struggled).

Ruxsendra had been taken and returned here, too, had felt the touch of their deadly weapons—she cried weakly, sure that she would die. How anyone could survive this was beyond her.

What did they want with her?

She tried to reason past the pain, and worse, the loss when she thought of her parents, her siblings—but there was nothing in her but suffering.

The only thing that gave Ruxsendra courage to face another dawn (though there were no windows; she had no idea what time of day it was) was Nila.

The other girl was even more bruised and bleeding than Ruxsendra, but her courage never wavered.

When the rats came at night (they could tell it was night because there were fewer screams), Ruxsendra shivered and stared, wide-eyed and terrified.

The rat was going to get her, she knew it! It would poison her (Mama had always said rats were unclean) and she would die that much faster, trapped here, lost—the scary women in red wouldn't care, they would leave her bones in a corner, like the ones chained to the wall in their cell—

"Ah!" Ruxsendra gasped—but quietly; she didn't want to wake the scary women in red, that would be even _worse_—as a rat nibbled at her bare toes.

Nila was awake at once. "What is it?" she whispered.

Ruxsendra pointed wordlessly.

Nila saw the rat, and her eyes narrowed.

"We're going to die!" Ruxsendra gasped.

"Killed by a _rat_?" Nila said. "I don't think so." And she fished through the straw and lifted an ornate, heeled, jeweled shoe from the floor.

Ruxsendra's eyes widened. Even covered in mud, the shoe was a marvel, probably worth more than anything she'd ever before seen in her life. And now it was all dirty, scuffed and ruined—just like them.

Eyes brimming with tears, Ruxsendra almost didn't see what Nila did next. Taking a firm hold on the toe part of the shoe, Nila raised it over her head and brought the sharp heel down directly on the head of the rat.

Ruxsendra shrieked in shock, fear, and pity for the poor creature, as blood spurted from the mortal wound—

Nila shoved the corpse of the rat into the corner with the bloody shoe, and surveyed it calmly. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "I'm never going to be able to wear heels again," she said, and that was the end of that—Nila treated all the rats with the same cool brutality.

Ruxsendra was awed. There was no one in the world stronger or braver or prettier (those eyes…) or—_better_—than Nila. It was simple fact.


	16. Kidnapped!

**Kidnapped!**

Three days. Nila had been missing for three days.

Darken was furious.

He wouldn't let himself be worried.

He'd searched everywhere. He had quads looking throughout his kingdom. Though how she could have gone far…

Always, he came back to picturing her kidnapped, an enemy planning to use her to catch Darken off guard, weak…

He could imagine the dangers she might be in.

Could the remaining rag-tag remnants of the Resistance have murdered her? Surely Darken would know if Nila were dead…

Their shared Rahl blood was a bond impossible to erase.

Of course! That was it. Darken sat before his scrying mirror, and called with every part of himself, every last flicker of magic, for his daughter.

Kahlan had not left his side since they had discovered Nila missing. Now she asked, "Can you find her?"

"If she is anywhere in this world," Darken replied. He did not add that he could not scry past the Veil to the Underworld—nor through a sufficiently powerful magical barrier.

If Nila were not dead, then Darken's next fear was that she had somehow activated the World Mirror, which, some said, could not only show the skilled observer many times and places, but also transport them thither. If that were true, it would be next to impossible to find her.

Darken looked into the mirror, and as his senses extended past himself and his ornate study, he noticed one last physical sensation: Kahlan was gripping his shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, and then he was mere thought, following his Rahl blood to Nila.

* * *

Kahlan was frantic. The worst part was how powerless she was. She couldn't even order the guards to stop wasting time standing around ceremonially and actually do _something _(honestly, Kahlan had no idea why Darken even bothered having guards in the Palace, when he demanded protection, affection, and rudimentary household service from his Mord'Sith).

And of course, she knew better than to try to talk to the _Mord'Sith_.

She had no magic—even if it weren't for the Rada'Han around her neck, she had never possessed the ability to find people, or see visions, or any of the things Zedd or Shota had been able to do—Shota! Kahlan was shocked at how completely she had forgotten the sorceress, languishing in the dungeons—but what could she do to the purpose, magic bound by a Rada'Han as surely as Kahlan's was?

Besides, despite knowing the witch-woman supported her scheme to see Richard again, Kahlan was reluctant to face her now, with or without Nila.

So she did the only thing she could—she stayed at Darken's side, trusting that, for once, his vaunted magic might serve her purpose.

He gazed into the plain mirror, and Kahlan frowned, because she could see nothing—not even her own reflection. Her fingers dug into his shoulder as she prayed to the Creator for this to work.

Then he rose from his chair, as though in a daze, and strode to the door. Kahlan kept pace with him, her heart rising in her throat at this prospect of actual progress.

Terror nagged at her, reminding her of something Darken had once said about the Resistance plotting their children's deaths. But the Resistance was gone—

Kahlan followed Darken through the corridors of the palace, down, down…they were nearing the dungeons, and Kahlan thought again of Shota, and then of all the other poor souls who were no doubt imprisoned there, too…

But they turned away from the door to the dungeons, turning instead into a part of the Palace Kahlan had never been in before. Almost immediately, she heard screams. Her face grew cold, and in her veins ran the Con Dar, inflaming her blood but unable to escape past her Rada'Han.

Darken went directly to one door. He pressed his palm against it, and it swung open at once.

Chains hung from the ceiling—a Mord'Sith paced in front of a small, dirty figure, her agiel humming. The girl hanging in the chains raised her chin obstinately, and Kahlan gasped.

It was Nila.


	17. Discipline

**Discipline**

Darken felt the magic recede, now that he had found Nila. He strode forward to Cindi, and struck her so viciously that she crumpled to the floor.

"Lord Rahl!" she gasped.

Darken hauled her upright by her braid, and transferred the agiel at her waist to a sheath at his. He yanked the other one out of her hand and clutched it, feeling the anger drum through his blood, enhancing the weapon's efficacy. Strong emotion in the Lord Rahl was always echoed by his Mord'Sith; despite knowing he was displeased with her, Cindi's eyes glittered with a strange triumph.

Darken was breathing hard, but he deliberately looked away from her. He hadn't come down here to the Mord'Sith's People's Palace Headquarters for Cindi.

Kahlan was unchaining Nila, the little girl already slumping against her, eyes blurry with exhaustion. Darken stared into his daughter's eyes, so like his own, and reached for the bond their Rahl blood formed between them.

He breathed a sigh of relief. She was all right—bruised, hurt, but nothing so serious she wouldn't recover.

"Father?" Nila asked softly. Then her eyes seemed to focus properly on his, and she exclaimed, struggling to support herself, "Ruxsendra! You have to save her!"

Kahlan's eyes met Darken's over Nila's dark head, and Darken read the disapproval therein. Now that he thought about it, Ruxsendra was the name of one of the new girls being trained to be Mord'Sith. He remembered it because she was Cara's niece.

"Don't worry," he told Nila, "I'll take care of her." Indeed; no one could ever replace Cara, of course, but all the same, Darken thought he might oversee Ruxsendra's training himself.

Question answered, Nila slumped against Kahlan, who raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

Darken waited until they were gone before turning back to Cindi.

She met him look for look, he would give her that.

"You…" he said venomously. "have disobeyed me."

"Never, my Lord," she said at once. "I didn't touch your heir."

Darken admitted to an absent-minded relief that Nicholas was safe, and that his orders were regarded at least that far, but all his anger and suppressed fear would find an outlet somewhere. How had she dared—! His bond with his daughter, made closer now by his efforts, spoke to him of Nila's brave defiance, and his blood sang with an answering righteous fury.

He threw Cindi to the floor and stuck his head out the door. "Dahlia!" he bellowed. "Get in here!"

Dahlia, trailed by two subordinates, Jeanna and Hayley, entered the room, raising her eyebrows at Cindi on the floor.

Darken said coolly, "Chain her," and waited while Dahlia and Hayley put Cindi in the same chains Nila had hung from. As the last lock clicked into place, and Jeanna flung aside Cindi's leathers, he added softly, "_First Mistress_ Dahlia."

Dahlia's pale skin flushed with pride, and Cindi gasped in real horror. Darken smirked, the hard edges of his temper already scraping against Cindi's nerve endings.

He would make her regret this…his name was not known and feared throughout not only all United D'Hara, but the rest of the known world, for nothing.

* * *

Kahlan carried Nila all the way to her room, unwilling to let her daughter out of her sight. Once there, she sent Alice to fetch the Healer, the same one who had helped deliver her daughter eight years ago.

Nila had fallen into a troubled sleep by the time the Healer arrived; Kahlan waited anxiously for a report, hurt and a little worried that Darken hadn't come with her. Did Nila's suffering mean so little to him?

The Healer hovered with hands outstretched over Nila, and said, "She should stay in bed for several days. Rest and good food will complete her physical recovery; I cannot speak as to her mental state."

"What do you mean?" Kahlan asked fearfully.

The Healer shrugged. "The training of the Mord'Sith is not only physical, Lady Rahl. I apprehend that _was _where Lady Nila was for the last several days."

The gossipy interest the Healer displayed in her daughter's suffering made Kahlan frown; she dismissed the Healer, and stayed by Nila's bedside, thinking.

It was true that what Denna had done to Richard had been more than simply physical; Kahlan still cringed when she remembered how close he had come to becoming Denna's mindless slave, willing to kill Kahlan for his Mistress.

But surely the Mord'Sith wouldn't do that to their own? What was the point of such an elite fighting force if none of them could think for themselves?

Kahlan frowned over it, and only left her daughter's bedside that evening, when Alice, after fetching Kahlan's dinner, volunteered to watch over her.

Still preoccupied with her fears (what if the Mord'Sith had corrupted Nila, turning her into one of them? Was that even possible, when Nila was a Confessor? And why hadn't she used her power?) Kahlan walked abstractedly, paying little attention to where her steps led her.

When she came to the room she now unofficially shared with Darken, she realized she'd been headed there all along. Too tired to reproach herself, she sank down on the blankets, curled in a ball, and let sleep claim her—hoping her nightmares would not be filled with her daughter's screams.


	18. Aunt in the Attic

**Aunt in the Attic**

Nicholas Rahl, scion and heir to the Great House of Rahl and the throne of D'Hara, was bored.

He'd eluded his tutors for several days now, not to mention the guard outside his room, ever since Nila disappeared and Father and Mother went insane looking for her.

Personally, he didn't see what all the fuss was about.

Nevertheless, he his aimless steps took him to his sister's room after a lonely dinner watched over by no less than three Mord'Sith, curiosity getting the better of him. (Why was everyone suddenly thinking _she _was the important one?)

Outside his sister's shut door stood Captain Meiffert, a tall blonde man about Mother's age with a sternly impassive expression.

Nicholas smiled innocently up at him. "Is Lady Nila there?"

"My orders are that no one is to disturb the princess," Captain Meiffert said, sparing Nicholas a glance.

Nicholas frowned, remembered he was being watched, and adjusted his expression to an adorable pout. "You have to let me see her," Nicholas begged. _Otherwise I'll die of boredom_—"She's my sister." He tucked his gloved hands behind his back, reflecting that at least they protected his skin from the draughty hallways. There was enough stone in the Palace's construction to make even summers cool here.

"I'm sorry, Lord Nicholas," Captain Meiffert said kindly, warming up to Nicholas as everyone did. "But I believe she's sleeping, after all she's been through—"

Nicholas resisted the urge to cover his ears. He wasn't sure which horrified him more, that Nila got to have all the adventures or that "all she's been through" probably involved blood or mud or something else gross and awful, undignified and unsafe.

"Thanks anyway," he said, and wandered away again. His mother's rooms were empty—the bed, made and pristine, had a vaguely unoccupied feel to it, as though Mother was rarely here.

Nicholas, feeling restless and depressed, strolled down the hallways—until he came to a staircase he didn't recognize. Curious, he climbed up in an endless spiral, wondering if this were another way into the attics (there were things he wanted to investigate there)—but no, the staircase climbed precipitately upward, debouching into what was obviously an antechamber. Two guards sat playing dice, a heavy iron key lying carelessly on the table near their hands, and there was a locked door directly across from Nicholas's arrested eyes.

Carefully, heart beating madly with sick apprehension, not that he would be caught by the guards so much as that he didn't know what was in that room, and he hated surprises, Nicholas edged inside, swiped the key off the table without a sound—

And opened the door.

Only later did it occur to him to wonder that the guards hadn't noticed him—but then, Nicholas was so used to getting his own way that their convenient blindness scarcely registered with him.

The room was full of light, pouring in from tall windows. There were several bookshelves, a curtain drawn back partway to show another room with a bed, a sturdy table, covered in parchment—and curled in a window seat, nested comfortably among cushions and looking out at the dizzying view, was a red-haired woman.

She turned at Nicholas's entrance, and at first he thought he must have disturbed her—but not all the harsh lines of her face could be explained away by his unauthorized appearance. Instantly, he became consciously cute and harmless. He was young enough that it was no effort, really, but at the same time, he was aware that this woman might be dangerous. He'd lived in the Palace all his life, but never come across her before. And why were her rooms guarded? This wasn't part of the dungeons, after all.

"Who are you?" the woman asked sharply.

"Lord Nicholas Rahl," Nicholas said proudly. He liked his title. "Who are you?"

The woman blinked. "I suppose…" she said, and then she laughed. "I suppose I'm your mad Aunt Jennsen," she said, "locked away in the attics…" A sigh escaped her, and she looked out the window again.

Nicholas frowned. "This isn't the attics," he stated positively. Although perhaps this woman—Aunt Jennsen?—did have something in common with the contents of the cluttered attics—dangerous, yes, it terrified him, but also interesting—maybe even useful.

Without waiting to be invited, Nicholas sat down at the table and beamed at 'Aunt Jennsen.' "What are you doing here?" he asked ingenuously.

If she were one of Father's enemies, she'd be in the dungeons. Or the crypt. But if she were really his aunt, why didn't she sit down to dinner with them and gossip with Mother about Palace fashions, or something? This in-between state seemed…strange.

Aunt Jennsen took a deep breath, and turned to stare at Nicholas, drinking him in as intently as he had observed her. Nicholas recognized the expression, and fought to keep his face politely still. She was counting off his features, the same way all Father's generals did. Father's jaw, Mother's eyes (although Father's eyes were also blue), blond hair he must've gotten from some more obscure relative (though not the fiery-headed Aunt Jennsen, clearly)…

"Nicholas," Aunt Jennsen said warmly. "The Creator has delivered you to me. Let me tell you a story."

Nicholas leaned forward, to indicate that he was all attention.

"Once upon a time," smiled Aunt Jennsen bitterly, "there were two brothers."

Nicholas could not have said he much enjoyed the story that followed—it didn't take him long to recognize his parents, distorted as they were by Aunt Jennsen's venomous synopsis. 'Uncle Richard' was more worrying. Nicholas completely ignored the extraneous plight of the Midlands, as 'helpless slaves to a power-hungry tyrant,' and 'good-hearted people forced to labor under the yoke of oppression.' It sounded like the propaganda Father made him read as early political background, and besides, they were only peasants.

Nonetheless, although the idea of Mother as a successful conspirator, plotting against 'Uncle Richard' with Father in order to 'destroy a whole culture,' was laughable (she was much too compassionate—look how overly and unnecessarily kind she was to Nila), there was something in the story of Mother's betrayal of this 'Uncle Richard' and subsequent marriage to Father that did catch at Nicholas's attention.

It was the new information that Mother had once been an enemy of the House of Rahl. Meaning—meaning what?

Did it explain the odd tension between Nicholas's parents? And more importantly, if they were still opposed, which loved Nicholas more? '

All in all, Nicholas felt more inclined to ascribe their mutual hostility as being related to himself somehow, even if he couldn't see how.

"Thank you, Aunt Jennsen," Nicholas said politely, before he left. "You've been very…instructive."

"I have faith," Aunt Jennsen said desperately. Her eyes, blue as Nicholas's own (and the main reason he believed she was his aunt in truth), were shadowed deeply, etched into her face—and locked sincerely on his. "You will be a greater ruler than your father ever was—you will make all the people equal."

Nicholas nodded. Greater than his father—that was certainly true. He ignored a small quiver of fear, and made his escape.

It was just as easy to sneak out past the guards as it had been to sneak in, but this time Nicholas had much more to think about.

Nila wasn't the only one who could have adventures. So there. Nicholas stuck his tongue out in the vague direction of Nila's room, then looked around to make sure she wasn't behind him.

One thing was for sure—he wasn't telling her, or anyone, about his crazy aunt in the attic.

(Although Aunt Jennsen's intensity had disturbed him—it was lucky he'd thought to lock the door behind him. The last thing Nicholas needed was another relative.)


	19. To Kiss Those Fingers

**To Kiss Those Fingers**

When Darken returned at last to his chambers, he was exhausted, but, on the whole, pleased with his progress.

Nila was safe; Cindi was being disciplined (Darken was still considering her demise—if Nila had her Confessor powers already, she would have used them, so that possibility was moot…perhaps Nicholas would care to—?); and Dahlia, while not as intelligent as his general choice of First Mistress (Bekah, Cara, Cindi…) was swift, efficient, and loyal. Besides, undue intelligence in a subordinate clearly had drawbacks.

Darken frowned at Cindi's presumption, in laying a finger on any child of his without his permission. Who did she think she was? He would not allow his Mord'Sith to dictate to him; the sooner Cindi learned her mistake, the better.

Still preoccupied, Darken was unprepared for the storm that greeted him on his return.

"Our daughter is lucky to be alive, where have you _been_, don't you care _at all_?" Kahlan raged, advancing on him with a purposeful glare and a pointing finger.

Darken almost took an involuntary step back; then he glared right back, reminding himself that, in this case, Kahlan didn't have logic on her side. "I ascertained Nila's condition myself; I've been disciplining Mistress Cindi."

Kahlan's gaze darted to his hands; Darken looked down, and saw they were slightly smeared with Cindi's blood. He sighed inwardly, reflecting that he always needed a good bath after a sojourn in the Mord'Sith Headquarters.

Kahlan reached down and caught his hands in hers; bemused at her rapid mood shift, Darken watched as she bent her head and kissed his fingers.

When she looked up, her eyes were dark with all the rage she had to be suppressing. She looked desperate, furious, and triumphant all at once. Darken waited, feeling the question rising in his own eyes. As always, unsure what her answer would be.

She was full of surprises, his queen…

Suddenly, Kahlan seemed to leap toward him, embracing him—her lips met his—

Darken pulled her closer, no longer tired—even his usual smirk was gone—

* * *

It was the middle of the night. Kahlan got up, leaving Darken asleep, and rifled quietly through his discarded robes until she found the knife he carried everywhere.

She was glad he wasn't waking up—the last thing she needed was interruptions, and suppose he forbade her plan? Working her way around an actual prohibition would be so much more difficult.

Kahlan slipped out of their room, pulling on a D'Haran-red robe as she went. She made her way down the stairs to the Mord'Sith Headquarters.

She had a story all ready, but she didn't bump into any guards. Finally, she reached the room where Nila had been tortured.

Kahlan found Cindi still hanging in the chains, eyes half closed. "Lady Rahl?" the Mord'Sith asked hoarsely, clearly bewildered.

Kahlan had thought about what she would say; but now, she realized there was nothing. If not for the Rada'Han, she already would have taken Cindi with her power. As it was, she had been forced to be more creative.

She drew the knife, and smoothly plunged it into Cindi's chest—all the other woman had time to say was a startled, "But you can't d—"

Kahlan waited with the slumped figure until she judged it too late for any of Cindi's Sisters to revive her; then she returned to bed.

She replaced Darken's knife—honestly, she doubted he would realize she'd used it.

The next morning, though, on her way to check on Nila, Darken pulled her aside and demanded, "Didn't you trust me to deal with Cindi?"

"I don't know what you mean." Kahlan smiled sharply.

"Dahlia says she found her this morning—stabbed to death," Darken said pointedly. "I don't suppose you know anything about that."

Kahlan looked at him, and decided to tell the truth. She doubted he would kill her for it—at least in this case. "Just making sure she didn't try it again."

"She wouldn't have," Darken insisted. "I would have killed her first."

Kahlan thrilled at his words—thank the Creator, he did love Nila as much as she did (not that she had ever doubted, during that hellish three days)—"Are you sorry I struck first?" she asked archly. "Perhaps I should have waited—we could have killed her together."

Darken grinned at that. "You are a woman after my own heart," he said, and kissed her cheek.

Kahlan wasn't sure whether to be insulted or flattered.

She knew, though, that Darken would never believe his Mord'Sith were all conspiring against him, even though they barely qualified as human and surely had no loyalty to any living soul. And there was one thing Kahlan determined on—the Mord'Sith weren't going near her children again, not if she could help it.


	20. Those Sinned Against

**Those Sinned Against**

"What was she thinking?" Hayley asked, sounding honestly bewildered. "Cindi, I mean."

"She betrayed Lord Rahl," Dahlia said sharply. "She deserved less than an honorable death."

Dahlia vowed she would not make Cindi's mistake. She could understand her predecessor's hatred for Lord Rahl's Confessor children—it was certainly ridiculous, their mere existence a challenge to the D'Haran way of life—but obviously, Cindi had lost her mind. (Or had she and Alina…? Could Dahlia honestly say she wouldn't have done the same if it had been Cara who had died in the agony of Confession? At least, she thought self-righteously, _she _would have tortured the right child.)

Dahlia thought it likely that Cindi had simply let the hatred that formed such an integral part of the Mord'Sith's lives run away with her. Any fool could see Cindi had been carried away—to train the Lady Nila as though she were one of the Mord'Sith recruits? If nothing else, it was entirely the wrong way to break a spoiled, pampered little princess like Lady Nila. Why would _she _believe that her parents were weak and greedy, ready to abandon her? The thought of Lord Rahl in such a role was ludicrous—if he ever ceased being infatuated with his perfect, storybook family, everyone would know.

(And what was Cindi going to do? Betray Lord Rahl in the hopes of gaining a Rahl child she could bend to her will? As if D'Hara would ever choose Lady Nila over Lord Nicholas—and as if Cindi could have held the throne, even had she gained it, as Regent for the princess. Treason, and impractical treason at that.)

The real problem was Lady Rahl, as Dahlia learned first-hand when she went to see how the princess was. (If Cindi had set back the Mord'Sith in the estimation of a Rahl, even a princess who would never inherit, Dahlia might just find a way to bring Cindi back to life after all, so that she might have the pleasure of killing her again. Perhaps the princess would care to watch?)

The Lady Nila was asleep when Dahlia entered, and she stood guard by the door, absolutely still. Now that she was First Mistress, Dahlia had no intention of going counter to Lord Rahl's wishes in either thought or deed—he had set this child above all others, save his heir. Who was she to disagree?

The door opened—at once, Lady Rahl had a hand around Dahlia's throat. Dahlia didn't move, refusing to demean herself by struggling with Lord Rahl's wife, and further well aware that Lady Rahl wore a Rada'Han. (It was the only reason the D'Haran army had yet to rebel—a Confessor queen, together with amnesty for the despised Resistance? Only Lord Rahl could have made them swallow the indignity.)

"What are you doing here?" Lady Rahl whispered. "Why can't you leave her alone? Monsters!"

"I am not Mistress Cindi, my Lady," Dahlia said politely. "I will not let harm come to Lady Nila."

"I don't believe you," Lady Rahl said, her voice getting louder in her agitation. "You're all the same—look what you've done to my daughter! Were you trying to turn her into one of _you_?"

The contempt and bitter loathing in Lady Rahl's voice made Dahlia blink, innocently. So Cindi's hatred had been returned. It occurred to Dahlia that Lady Rahl might have made a decent Mistress—then she scoffed at the idea. A Confessor? Surely not.

"First Mistress Dahlia is as outraged as you are, my dear Kahlan," Lord Rahl drawled, from the doorway. "She knows the price of disobedience."

The warning was clear, although Dahlia would rather have said that she knew the price of failure. It was Cindi who had let her emotions rule her, taking her beyond the line of what Lord Rahl would tolerate.

"No…" Lady Nila tossed in her bed, and then sat up with a sudden jerk, her eyes wide and dark in the reflected light from the hall.

Poor child, it must be startling to wake and find your room full of people…

Dahlia caught Lord Rahl's unreadable look. She was one of the few who would at once know his meaning.

Ignoring Lady Rahl, Dahlia strode to the bedside, and knelt, her gloved hands clasping Lady Nila's. "I swear to you," she said solemnly. "That I will only seek to serve and protect you—and that my Sisterhood will never hurt you again. Will you accept my word?"

Lady Nila studied her, and Dahlia waited, shocked by the new maturity in the girl's eyes. _So perhaps Cindi did you a service after all, little princess,_ she thought wryly. Certainly Lady Nila would never break now—not even a true Mistress, like the forbidding Denna, could have undone that stubborn confidence.

"I will," the princess said. Dahlia heard Lady Rahl moan, and Lord Rahl murmur soothingly behind her. "I want you to rescue Ruxsendra, though—she's my friend."

Dahlia was no stranger to the bonds between girls that the Mord'Sith training created, and her eyes narrowed, as a new thought occurred to her…

Mord'Sith like Cindi had no imagination, Dahlia thought when she had received, in impassive silence, Lord Rahl's instructions and Lady Rahl's venomous fury (already, Lady Nila was calling for Jeanna to tell her a story…).

Dahlia brought the girl, Ruxsendra, into her own private training room, and studied her. She reminded Dahlia so much of Cara that, had she not been Mord'Sith, she would have dissolved into tears.

The secret, that someone like Cindi would never have realized, was that the best Mord'Sith were more than hate and obedience and reflex—the best Mord'Sith were full of love. Love for Lord Rahl, love for life—sometimes, love for that one Mistress they could never quite beat, who took on a sort of heroic unattainability—

Dahlia knew that Cara had fought well, had taken the Seeker with her to the Underworld—yet, looking into those familiar green eyes, now wide with fear, she couldn't help the irrational sorrow swelling through her.

But she could turn it to good use.

"Do you remember Nila?" she asked gently.

"Why didn't she come back?" Ruxsendra asked, lip trembling. "She's strong—she'll stop you, you know."

Idealistic thought—as though Lord Rahl would disband the Mord'Sith, even for his Confessor family. Cindi had been a fool to make him consider the choice, however…

"She is strong," Dahlia said. She leaned closer. "And you can be just as strong—do you think you can do that? When you earn your place in the Sisterhood, think how proud she'll be! She wants to see you again—but she can't see you if you fail her—if you're weak. Are you ready to be strong?"

Ruxsendra bit her lip—and nodded.

Dahlia smiled. That was the real secret of the best Mord'Sith—a reason to break, a reason to survive, a reason to be the best Mistress she could be—

Mord'Sith were full of love.

(And if Dahlia saw herself and Cara in Ruxsendra and Nila…that was surely no one's concern but her own.)


	21. Trust

**Trust**

"Mama," Nila said in a high, little girl voice. "You're here."

"Of course, sweetheart," said Kahlan, gracefully sinking down on the edge of her daughter's bed.

"They won't let me get up until tomorrow," Nila complained. "But at least I don't have to go to lessons." She made a face.

"Don't you like your lessons?" Kahlan objected. "You know how important they are."

Nila shrugged. She looked down at her hands on the red coverlet, and then seemed to come to a decision. She raised her eyes to Kahlan's face. "Mama? I just—when I was in the dungeons, Mistress Cindi told me Father didn't care about me, that no one did—I was just the extra, Nicholas is the heir—" even through her distress, Kahlan noted the way Nila's lip curled when she mentioned her brother.

"Sweetheart," she said, reaching out to smooth back Nila's dark hair, so like her own. "I will always care about you, you know that."

"Yes. That's what I'm saying," Nila said patiently. "I thought—I thought it might be true. About Father." She looked at Kahlan then, cool blue eyes serious. "But I knew you would always protect me—you wouldn't abandon me."

"Never," said Kahlan, touched. "You mean more to me than anything."

(Even if Nila had elected to keep her Mord'Sith guardians—Kahlan did not see that their protection was worth much, when they were at least as dangerous as anything they guarded Nila against. Yet how could she take away something that made her poor daughter feel more secure? Kahlan hated the Mord'Sith for hurting Nila—she wished she could have Confessed the Underworld-cursed Mistress 'C-something', so that she would feel the agony Kahlan had, when Nila was missing.)

Nila held out her arms, and Kahlan embraced her. As she inhaled the soft, clean scent of soap and little girl, Kahlan felt so thankful.

She didn't think she could love anyone more than her daughter—and that was when the memories struck her, assailing her mind and heart like a sudden arrow storm. She stiffened.

"Mama?" Nila asked. "What's wrong?"

Kahlan took a deep breath, and pulled away, her fingers lingering on Nila's hair. She told herself Nila had Darken's black hair and blue eyes, not her own.

It didn't help.

"Sweetheart," she said, "there's something I need you to do."

"Right now? Can I go downstairs again?" Nila asked hopefully.

"No, not right now," said Kahlan slowly, seriously. "Someday, when you're an old woman, the Seeker is going to come back."

Nila looked puzzled. "But he's gone. Everyone says so."

"Nevertheless," said Kahlan. "He's going to come back, and he's going to need your help. He should have everything else he needs—but he won't be able to save the world if you don't help him."

"Save the world from what?" asked Nila.

Kahlan looked toward her daughter's window, out into the wide world, where the Resistance no longer held sway, where the people had hospitals, and no more war…and wondered.

"Someday you'll understand," was all she would say.

"I love you, Mama," Nila said.

That night, for the first time, the face in Kahlan's dreams, mouth open in a wordless scream of betrayal and reproach, wasn't Richard's—it was Nila's.

Was she doomed to betray the trust of someone she loved?

* * *

Darken came to see Nila the next morning. She was still supposed to rest, but she was sitting by the window, looking out, instead of in bed, and Darken guessed she longed to be out and about.

"Good morning," he said warmly, holding out his arms.

After a moment, Nila came to him and he hugged her close, shutting his eyes and letting himself feel the relief of knowing that she was all right. Then he tucked her back in bed, where she belonged, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"That's where Mother always sits," she told him gravely.

"Indeed," Darken said, and took a deep breath. "Nila, I want you to know that I never intended for this to happen. The Mord'Sith are there to protect you and your brother when I can't—" he had to pause, trying to get his temper under control.

It still made him wild with fury to think that Mistress Cindi had dared hurt his daughter, and now that she was dead, the rage seemed only to be increasing. Darken was jealous that Kahlan had killed Cindi—it was a pleasure he'd hoped to reserve for himself.

(And she still hadn't seemed to understand his anger, bleating on about his heir as though Nicholas were the only important thing—true, Darken had once felt that way, but that had been before he actually became a father. Or had Cindi merely feigned misunderstanding—had she been plotting against him? What kind of world was this, where he couldn't even trust his First Mistress? Dahlia at least showed the proper respect…)

"It's okay," Nila said. "I trust Mistress Dahlia. And I just want Ruxsendra to be okay—I'm so worried about her!"

"Don't be," Darken said, blinking. Ruxsendra would join the ranks of the Mord'Sith, and he would make certain she never attempted to follow Cindi's traitorous example. If she took after her aunt at all, she would doubtless prove as loyal and efficient a support to Nicholas as Cara had been to him. That symmetry pleased him. "She'll be fine. And so will you—is that understood?" His voice was sharper than he'd intended—Nila's eyes flashed.

"You're angry with me!" she accused. "It's just like Mistress Cindi said—you don't really love me, it's all Nicholas, Nicholas, Nicholas—"

Darken was shaking his head in vehement denial, quite forgetting that of course it _was_all Nicholas, Nicholas, Nicholas—the boy was his heir.

"Nila, you are my daughter and I love you very much," Darken said quietly.

Nila scooted closer, and threw her arms around him. "Really?" she asked, in her best charming little girl voice.

Darken hugged her close. "Of course, really," he said. "Did you think I didn't?"

"No," she muttered.

Darken was horrified at the thought that his own daughter could doubt his feelings for her. He'd known, of course, that he wasn't doing a good job as a parent when he couldn't find her for three days in his own Palace, but this—!

And yet, even when she hadn't believed he cared for her as more than Nicholas's big sister, she had not cried once. And she hadn't broken, either.

As furious as Darken was that Mistress Cindi had laid a hand on his little girl, it was still fascinating to find that she was so strong—truly, she was worthy of her Rahl blood.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered against her hair, willing her to believe him.

She was a marvel—already she clamored to be up and out again, already she saw what another child might not realize, that Cindi had, thank the Creator, been working alone and that new First Mistress Dahlia was loyal to the House of Rahl—she was resilient and bright and precious, and still Mistress of Darken's heart.


End file.
